


A Frosty Reception

by Fifth Avenue (Chrysler)



Series: The Djaul/Harebourg Collection [2]
Category: Dofus, Wakfu
Genre: @Starrelia, Commissioned Work, M/M, rimjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6933439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysler/pseuds/Fifth%20Avenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Commissioned work from Starrelia) Djaul wants one thing from Harebourg, but Harebourg doesn’t seem to remember him. It’s a good thing that he’s here for that exact purpose: to remind Harebourg who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Frosty Reception

**Author's Note:**

> Fic commissioned by Starrelia of Tumblr - https://starrelia.tumblr.com/
> 
> There are minor edits by the commissioner to better fit the lore. This writer is new to the franchise, but I'll do better next time in giving them a proper prompt.
> 
> An unintentional porn AU of http://archiveofourown.org/works/6050007/chapters/13870476  
> lmao

He didn’t expect him to appear. No, if Harebourg is to be wholly honestly- he did not expect a demon to appear in his tower at all. Ice grazes over the floors, extending out in a twisting elegant shape towards the frozen outside-

Everything is frozen in curves, rather than jagged sharp edges, and Harebourg has spent a long time wondering what that means. Perhaps it means nothing, but something in the back of his head nags and tugs at him to try and figure it out, and with shaking fingers he buries himself in the knowledge that he spends months upon months trying to thaw out.

What once is breathing, that his mind screams for him to learn, to him is now wheezing breaths and pained gasps. A sword lies in wait for him, and Harebourg can only shakily grab it and fall when his wakfu is unable to even give what the sword requires.

Everything about him, with puffs of breath that condense and body that struggles to hold his sword proper now, screams frail and easy to break. Everything about the demon that appears, unfamiliar and large with a grin larger than Harebourg itself, screams danger.

And Harebourg is not one to let a threat just – just live, as far as he can remember. Not when they are clearly a danger, large and imposing, and more than capable of destroying all that Harebourg has worked so hard to restore.

The wakfu in his body pulses weakly, his hands grasping at the hilt of his sword and his eyes wide in his glare towards the demon that grins and grins, slinking in like a feline. “Stand back!” Harebourg yells out and the demon, wholly unphased, slinks further towards him with the grace of a being who knows he has already won.

With grit teeth and a grip so tight his hands tremble, Harebourg takes a step closer and holds his blade up, ready to strike. “Stand back! I’ll kill you if you get any closer!” He says, confidence dripping from his lips and, to his utter surprise [or lack thereof, if he is to be more accurate], the demon starts laughing. It’s a laugh that shakes his entire body, showing off sharp and terrifying teeth that only serve to make Harebourg want to fight even more.

Madness and anger consume him, boiling in his stomach and in his blood, and the demon squares himself up and grins down at him. “Don’t remember me, one bit?” he sneers and circles around Harebourg, his body smug lines that curve and move with his sure steps, large and near-thunderous. “You really think you can handle me, huh?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but the demon gives him no chance. Within moments, he propels himself forward and pins Harebourg down and his sword goes flying far away; large claws press down on his body and his eyes widen when, as he crashes, the memories flood him. The panic travels through him, and he goes completely still beneath Djaul – Djaul, why is he back? Why has he returned? Why? – and the demon crows.

“Seems like someone finally remembered who I am!” he jeers and Harebourg can’t even respond. His breathing is coming in and out of him far too quickly and the area around him is far too cold and a severe contrast to the hot breaths over him.

Above him, the demon opens his mouth wide and uncurls his tongue, dripping with something that makes Harebourg’s heartbeat speed up far too quickly, and he bites his lower lip to try and muffle his yell of surprise as the demon drags his tongue over his clothes. His bandages burn away in the form of a wet slush before his very eyes and Harebourg’s mouth falls open in surprise over what has happened.

Saliva drips onto his skin and he’s sure—he’s sure that his skin will peel, but it never happens. Instead, Djaul moves lower downwards on his body, where his pants no longer cover his cock and Harebourg flushes at the intense stare on his crotch.

Much to his horror [and to his future denial], arousal pools in the pit of his stomach and his cock twitches, hardening ever so slightly, and the cackle that Djaul lets free burns him even further with shame. A hand slams down on his throat, squeezes barely, and Harebourg wheezes as he’s lifted up and dragged away-

He closes his eyes, and he doesn’t know what happens nor where he goes- but it’s still so very cold, in a way he sadly appears to know. The hand still presses down on him, and Djaul growls. “Open your eyes, little Count,” Djaul says and Harebourg struggles to open them, and his heart rushes up to his throat when he realises where he is.

This is his bedroom. The pervert of a guardian dragged him all the way—all the way into his own bedroom to do whatever he wants to do with him. He wheezes, tries to say something, but he has no air to speak and Djaul doesn’t really seem to care to give it to him.

He watches as Djaul opens his mouth wide once more and places it over him, over his cock, and opens his jaw wide, and Harebourg lets out a rattle of a wheeze as he feels the dangerous tongue lap at him. It drags over him, a sinful thing with saliva that makes Harebourg tense up and also attempt to moan, and he claws at the hand on his throat when Djaul’s tongue flattens over him and drags over both his hole and cock.

This isn’t—this isn’t what he expected, and it still is far too difficult to really comprehend. He swallows and he seems to feel, more prominently, Djaul’s hand that presses down on his throat. The grip eases and tenses intermittently, not wanting him to suffocate to unconsciousness, and Harebourg writhes and tries to thrust up into the large mouth that laps and laves at him so sinfully.

With another feeble attempt at breath, Harebourg’s shaking hands grasp at the sheets beneath him and he finds that he’s unable to move his body at all with the way Djaul is holding him down. The guardian laughs against him, tongue dipping down to lick at his hole and writhe against it, before he goes back to dragging his large, disastrous tongue over Harebourg’s wet hole and oozing cock in a flat stroke.

“Dj—“ he attempts to call out to the demon, tries to push himself away at the same time that he thrusts forward, but the demon sucks on him at the same time that his tongue laps and flicks at his asshole, and Harebourg’s only breath turns to a hacking, coughing groan.

His blood is thrumming and pulsing with excitement and disgust [at himself, mostly] and his mouth falls open when Djaul’s tongue attempts to wrap around his cock. Without much warning, Harebourg thrusts upwards and cums onto the large thing, and Djaul doesn’t stop him, no.

He keeps licking and licking at him, trying to coax more out of him, and his grip on his throat releases to let Harebourg cry out and beg for him to stop. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, tight, when Djaul backs away with his tongue hanging from his mouth.

“Look at me, little Count.” Djaul hisses out, harsh and warning, and Harebourg shakes his head. “Look at me, damn it!” when his voice grows louder, he opens his eyes again and stares into the guardian that hovers above him. The anger in his face is immediately replaced with an awful, perverse grin when his eyes meet with Harebourg’s, and he flinches from Djaul’s expression.

He dips down again, pushes his legs up and presses it against his shoulders and Harebourg shouts, lets out a sob and a moan when Djaul drags his tongue over his ass, big and wet and his cock, spent, twitches pathetically. He drops Harebourg then and backs away, tilts his head back, and grins a grin so despicable that he wishes he has the strength to kill Djaul.

“That’s all I came for!” he crows and, just like that, he disappears. Despite the demon’s presence, despite the fact that his bed should be ruined, Harebourg is able to wrap himself into his blanket and curl into his bed, and he hides his face into the sheets as goosebumps appear all over his skin.

Shame burns him, inside out, and shame will motivate him further, further into trying to kill Djaul, even as his mind decays and his grip on his sword is weak once more.


End file.
